In North Germany with the giant toad. His lips flare,
As if demanding I remove my hat for him, which I duly do.
He wriggles in his seat. On all these journeys, all
These expeditions, the giant toad is always there.
Miles and miles of snow past Brandenburg
And the upraised anorexic pine trees
In careful rows. Each year, this land takes a muddy battering,
And emerges full of roses to the withering folk.